Diomere's Exile

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

Nadia scratched her head as if bugs crawled through her ratty hair and patted the head of the mangy mutt she’d borrowed from her friend, Gordon’s collection of stray hounds. Mistress Raptis, a stern old woman wearing a gray dress, moved down the street toward Nadia, a basket hooked on one arm. The wife of the local apothecary, Mistress Raptis walked to the market square the third day of each week, claiming the fresh air and sunshine kept her in good health far better than any of her husband’s potions.

The older woman paused by Nadia’s huddled form, her frown deepening as she dropped a cloth wrapped bundle at Nadia’s feet. “There’s something for the dog in there too, Madame. See that you share.”

Nadia cackled and nodded, showing a mouth missing several teeth. She pulled the bundle close to her chest with one hand, while the other patted the dog’s head. A trio of young women, followed by their matronly escorts, eyed her warily and crossed the street, afraid of catching her particular brand of crazy.

The old woman ignored them and swept by to finish her morning errand. Nadia pulled the bundle open and passed a strip of dried meat to the dog. Beneath a partial loaf of hard bread sat three cloth wrapped vials. One had the crown prince’s mark pressed into its wax seal. Nadia shoved a hunk of the bread into her mouth as she slipped the vials into the pouch hidden beneath her dirty rags.

She finished the bread before scrambling to her feet and ambling toward the poorest section of Volos. At the edge of the city, a winding path veered off into an overgrown section of forest and over a crumbling bridge. At the path’s end, a thatched roof cottage hid among a tangled mess of thickets and climbing vines. Chickens pecked at the dirt in front of the house, their soft clucking adding to the music of chirping birds and gently swaying tree limbs. A tall, lean man with graying black hair, a wild beard, and a blade of grass clenched between his teeth tossed feed to the chickens. Fifteen years her senior and a retired guild man, Gordon looked up at her from piercing blue-gray eyes. The dog at her heels trotted past her and greeted his master.

She handed him the food she’d collected. “Mistress Raptis spoiled that one with a whole meat stick again.”

The older man scratched the dog’s mangy fur. “I reckon Sofos appreciated it.”

She walked into the tidy shack. “The city folk were feeling generous today. I’ve got nearly a whole loaf of bread, two apples, three carrots, and half a burnt sweet roll from the baker’s boy. Geeta sent along an onion, some dried herbs, and a roasted chicken.”

She set the sack of food on the table then crossed to a chest in the corner hidden behind a curtain and opened the heavy lid revealing her boots, clean over tunic, and the weapons she couldn’t conceal under her costume.

Gordon closed the shack’s front door and began unloading the sack. “Give Geeta my thanks.”

Nadia pulled off her dirty rags and stuffed them into the chest, then stepped from behind the curtain. “She worries about you all alone out here, Gordon.” She met the gaze of the man who’d been more of a father in the five years she’d known him than her own father had ever been. “To tell you the truth, so do I.”

Gordon raised chickens for eggs and collected mushrooms and sticks from the woods to sell or trade for food to feed his collection of stray animals.

“I get along, Lady Shark.” A smile creased his face. “Our healer makes a fine mother hen.”

Nadia laughed and plopped down in a chair at the table. “That she does.”

“I hear you’ve a sister visiting,” Gordon said, as he set a dented copper tea pot on the table between them.

Nadia lifted a brow. “Participating in the gossip ring now, are you?”

“One of the joys of retired life, my girl.” The older man winked. “I also hear that a certain recently returned marquess was seen walking you from the library.”

Nadia blew out a breath. “The man drives me crazy, G. His arrogance knows no bounds. Did he ask me if I wanted him to walk me home? Oh no. Just squeezed my hand and insisted in that firm, but quiet way he has. I would’ve seemed a mannerless harpy had I refused.”

Gordon’s brows were high on his forehead. “You like him.”

“No. Yes.” She rolled her eyes. “Maybe.” Then she lowered her voice. “I’m afraid.”

Gordon patted her hand. “The ones with the potential to hurt us most are always terrifying. They matter,” he said, his gaze far away. “The question is, are you going to let that fear get in the way?”

Nadia shook her head. “He’s Prince Stefan’s commander. Sworn to uphold his crazy king’s laws. If I were to tell him my secrets, he’d run or arrest me. Maybe both.”

Gordon opened his mouth to reply, but Nadia just shook her head, ready to change the subject, and pulled the glass vials she’d collected while acting the beggar.

She handed the vial marked with the image of a nightingale to Gordon. “Let’s see what our contacts have for us today.”

He patted her hand, then took the vial. “Adrial is threatening to poison Roland’s lieutenants again. They sent another of the Nightingales back unconscious.”

Adrial was the leader of the Nightingales, a guild she’d started with Nadia’s help two years before. The Shark and Vromia Guild dealt with anyone who took advantage of them and in turn the women gathered information which Adrial passed on to Gordon. The retired guild man had been the one to coin the moniker, nightingale, after catching Adrial singing to herself. Gordon, with his unkempt appearance and long silences, drove the most notorious, beautiful and poised of Volos’ prostitutes absolutely batty. Nadia often wondered if there wasn’t more to the relationship than they let on, but chose not to pry.

“If she feels that her girls are in danger, have her pull them. We need any information they can gather, but not at the cost of anyone’s life,” Nadia said with a frown.

Gordon shook his head. “She said you’d say that and to tell you that she had an idea for how to make them behave without losing the ability to gather information for you.”

Nadia nodded, trusting Adrial to take care of her own. She picked up a vial with Prince Stefan’s crest pressed into its waxy seal. She unrolled the tiny message and butterflies filled her stomach. She memorized the time and place, then walked over to the shack’s small hearth and tossed the small strip of paper into the fire.

She had a date with her possible heartbonded.